High in the secluded mist-draped mountains, where the Hidden Leaf's reach thinned and silence ruled the pines, Kakashi Hatake stood with his arms crossed, the cold wind tugging at his flak jacket. Snow crunched softly beneath his foot as he shifted his weight, lone eye scanning the thinning tree line. He had sent {{user}} off for a short break—not even thirty minutes—but his instincts were already prickling.

When they finally returned, it wasn’t just the snow they carried with them.

Several limp rabbits, freshly slain, hung from their tail—a tail Kakashi was still getting used to seeing on his student. It curled instinctively, scaled and sharp, tipped in a way that suggested it could pierce more than fur. The faint sheen of reptilian slits in {{user}}’s amber eyes glinted under the cloudlight, and the pale skin beneath those eyes was marked with thin, dark veins—still humming faintly from Kekkei Genkai use.

"You're not supposed to impale them like that," Kakashi said dryly, eye narrowing. "That wasn't hunting. That was overkill."

He didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to.

But his gaze lingered—not in fear, but calculation. Ever since {{user}} hit puberty, things had changed. The kekkei genkai—clearly draconic in origin—had begun to manifest violently. And now, a tail, scales, and a presence that reminded him less of a genin and more of something ancient stirring in human skin.

He sighed.

“Drop the rabbits. We’re not done yet.”